


just another graceless night

by floralathena



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 09:14:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18797374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floralathena/pseuds/floralathena
Summary: The call comes in just as he’s grabbing his jacket, and he groans. It’s nothing new- a loud party at Harrington’s place. Underage drinking, possible marijuana use, certain driving under the influence later on, but the greatest crime by far is the volume of the music. The audacity of those kids to disturb their annoying rich neighbors’ peace and quiet. He shrugs on his jacket and grabs his hat with a grunt. Steve fuckin’ Harrington has no regard for Jim Hopper’s personal time, and Jim prepares to spend the night babysitting his drunk ass in a cell if he’s too far gone.





	just another graceless night

The call comes in just as he’s grabbing his jacket, and he groans. It’s nothing new- a loud party at Harrington’s place. Underage drinking, possible marijuana use, certain driving under the influence later on, but the greatest crime by far is the volume of the music. The audacity of those kids to disturb their annoying rich neighbors’ peace and quiet. He shrugs on his jacket and grabs his hat with a grunt. Steve fuckin’ Harrington has no regard for Jim Hopper’s personal time, and Jim prepares to spend the night babysitting his drunk ass in a cell if he’s too far gone. Hopefully, the kid won’t be off his face and he can just give him a talking to and leave. If past experience is any indication, the others will scatter as soon as he arrives.

Jim takes his sweet time driving down. Hawkins is a small town, though, so his sweet time lasts just over ten minutes. He hears the music halfway down the street, and he’s honestly almost impressed with the power of Harrington’s rich kid speakers. Jim would have killed for something like this sound system when he was that age. Every conversation he’s had with the kid- three, all while busting up parties- has reinforced his view that the kid is a spoiled little shithead with no respect for anybody but himself, though, so it’s difficult to give him props while knowing that he’s also kind of the worst. Jim flicks on the siren for about fifteen seconds and chuckles. He watches kids run out into the street, yelling and piling into cars and hopping onto bikes as he slowly rolls up. The music is still playing when he puts the car into park and steps out. He ignores the panicked teens running around and driving off- he’s here on a noise complaint, so he’s gonna get Harrington to turn his shit off, hopefully avoid having to babysit any drunk kids, and then he’ll head home to his frozen dinner and pharmaceutical sleep aids. 

“Guys, come on, why’s everybody leaving?” he hears Harrington slur. The kid walks up to the wide-open front door and lets out a loud groan when he sees Jim, tossing his head back and slouching his shoulders. “Tommy! Where- did he leave? TOMMY!” he yells back into the house.

“UGH!” Harrington shouts and stands in the doorway as Jim approaches, stepping carefully through the normally immaculate yard which is now scattered with trash.

“Music’s too loud,” Jim says, raising his voice to be heard over the racket.

“Come on, man!” Harrington whines, “Just this once!” 

“Turn it down,” Jim says, and steps closer. He knows that smell. Goddamnit, there goes his fucking night. He can see smoke curling in the air over Harrington’s shoulder. “Alright, kid, come with me.”

He turns and begins walking back to the car- Harrington knows the drill and follows at Jim’s side, complaining all the way. “Look, man, we’re just having fun, we’re not hurting anybody! You made Tommy leave! I don’t even- I’m not- come on!” Harrington trips over his own feet and Jim has to grab him by the arm to keep him from faceplanting in the grass.

Jim isn’t swayed by the apparently sad fact that he made Tommy leave. Harrington seems pretty upset about it, though. He's muttering, mostly just unintelligible nonsense, but Jim can hear the names "Tommy" and "Carol." They reach the car and Jim pulls Harrington around the opposite side, where they’re almost hidden from the view of the party. 

“Kid-”

“It’s my birthday, Hopper, you can’t arrest me on my birthday! I’ll turn it down, okay, just- just come on!” Harrington pleads. “I’ll- I’ll turn it down, and you can go, and Tommy will come back, and we’ll be quiet.”

Hopper picks a joint out from behind Harrington’s ear.

“That’s not mine,” the kid says immediately, face flushed and eyes wide. He reeks of alcohol and dope, his khaki pants and polo shirt wrinkled and his hair slightly damp with sweat. His chest heaves like breathing is a chore. Jim's pretty sure that he would start crying if he pulled out handcuffs.

Jim sighs and tucks it into his pocket. “I’m not gonna arrest you.”

Harrington cocks his head like an intrigued puppy. “You- you’re not? Because it’s my birthday?”

“Because you look pathetic, kid,” Jim says honestly, and Harrington nods vigorously. Jim isn’t sure that he understands what pathetic means. “Where are your parents?”

“I dunno,” Harrington says, “Out.”

He doesn’t seem to be lying. Jim honestly doesn’t think the kid’s capable of it when he’s this far gone, besides the reflexive teenage “that’s not mine” which had exactly no conviction behind it. 

"Are they going to be back anytime soon?"

"Probably not. I think… I don't know. I think they might be in Canada? Or just in the, uh, town Alberta? But I dunno why they'd go there. So I think Canada Alberta."

Jim sighs and looks around. Most of the other kids have scrambled away. There are a few stragglers, but the stragglers seem pretty sound of mind and Jim has no desire to punish a kid for going to a party and  _ not _ drinking, so he lets them go.

“Let’s turn that music off, and I’ll go,” Jim says, and he keeps a hand on Harrington’s shoulder as he marches the kid back towards the house. “But we’re turning it off, not turning it down, and nobody’s coming back. You’re gonna sleep this off and I’m not gonna get any more calls about you.”

“Not even Tommy?” Harrington asks. He sounds like an actual child, wheedling his parents for an extra cookie. 

“Nope,” Jim says. Harrington’s friend is a jackass on a good day, and if he comes back Jim is gonna get dragged out of bed at two in the morning because they decided to drive around knocking down mailboxes. He’s not inviting that shit into his life.

“Aw,” Harrington says. He leads Jim through the living room, which is strewn with beer cans and bottles and plastic cups. There’s a keg in the corner very poorly concealed by a plastic polka-dotted tablecloth and Jim pretends not to notice it. Plastic tablecloths of varying colors have been tossed over nearly everything, including chairs and the sofa. Harrington keeps walking, trips on an inconvenient rug that might have knocked him out if not for Jim grabbing him by the collar, and continues on into the kitchen. A cake lies on the counter, absolutely destroyed. It hasn’t been cut so much as torn, and Jim sees an unopened package of candles lying next to it. Icing is smeared on the counter. There might be the equivalent of a single piece left if someone was dedicated enough to scrape all of the bits and pieces together and dump them onto a plate. A giant mixing bowl contains the dregs of something that looks like Pepto-Bismol. Jim leans over to sniff it and reels back immediately at the odor of jet fuel that punches its way into his head. Harrington leads him out back to the pool where his stereo sits on the patio. The patio’s spotted with bottles, cans, and cups, abandoned shoes, jeans, and shirts, and one bright pink bra. A single red cup floats calmly in the water. One of the nice poolside lounge chairs has been overturned and something very red and probably very sticky has been spilled on another one.

“Fun birthday?” Jim asks casually as he watches Harrington drunkenly struggle with the stereo, accidentally turning the volume up a little before turning it down and then switching the music, mumbling to himself.

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Harrington says, “I think I have- I’ve got time to replace the chair, so it’s- it’s gonna be okay.” He finally finds the power and switches the whole thing off, leaving Jim’s ears to ring for a bit before he adjusts to the sudden silence. Harrington turns around with a wide smile. “I got it!”

“Proud of ya, kid,” Jim says dryly, turning to head back through the house. 

He makes it nearly to the front door before realizing that Harrington isn’t at his heels. He turns and peers through the kitchen to see Harrington, planted on the patio and looking at Jim like he’s grown a second head. Jim frowns.

“Harrington, you alright?”

The kid blinks at him for a long time before he seems to realize that the question was directed at him. “Steve. I’m- I’m okay, and it’s- I’m Steve.”

Jim shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Sleep it off, Steve, and don’t make me come back.”

He leaves, closing the door behind him and wondering if he should go with the frozen tray that has peas or the one with the corn.


End file.
